


All Hell Breaks Loose

by kungfunurse



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, First Time, M/M, bonding fic, crossover with NCIS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-10
Updated: 2010-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-08 20:43:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kungfunurse/pseuds/kungfunurse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They called it the Sentinel flu, and for a world society that had become dependent on the mystique of the "all seeing Protectors", it was devastating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Hell Breaks Loose

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out pretty wordy. I've tried several times to prune it down, but it's as stubborn as a thorny bush with sharp thorny things.

They called it the Sentinel flu, and for a world society that had become dependent on the mystique of the "all seeing Protectors", it was devastating. At first it was the weak and the imperfect Sentinels with three or four senses, the Halves, who were taken. Next were the damaged true Sentinels who were already sick in body or mind, unable to fight back when their senses sent them spiraling into coma-like zones.

But just as with the Spanish Influenza centuries before, the disease's true horror was its ability to kill those in the prime of life. The strong, seemingly invulnerable Trues began dropping, coughing up blood and collapsing while chasing suspects. Some simply zoned at their places of work, senses entrapped by the progress of the disease inside their bodies and never breaking free. Those that zoned never woke up again and the word spread. The Protectors were dying.

Crime became rampant. The local police forces, overwhelmed. Despite the relatively small number of Sentinels present in any populace, the force of their presence had been invaluable in suppressing all but the most determined lawbreakers. With the world's protectors dying, criminals became bold. Murder, an unheard of crime in the modern world, reared its ugly head once more and soon it wasn't just the Sentinels dying. Chaos threatened to take us all.

*_*_*_*_*

Detective First Class Jim Ellison stood at attention in his captain's office, eyes fixed on the wall behind the desk, a perfect example of military readiness. Privately, Captain Banks thought Jim did it just to piss him off.

"Damn it Jim, there's nothing I can do. My hands are tied! The Mayor refuses to allocate any more budgetary relief to the law enforcement agencies this quarter. We have to cut costs, and he insists that we pull back from the non-essential sectors and pay greater attention to those we can still do some good for!"

"Non-essential, sir?" Jim bit out frostily. "And the people huddled like rats in the Blue and Grey sectors, are they non-essentials too?"

"You know very well what I think of this piece of legislation, Detective. Hell Jim, there're more black and minority people in the Blue and Grey than anywhere else in Cascade combined. Those are my people we're talking about."

Jim's eyes locked onto Simon's now, angry and desperate. "Then let me do my job!" he ground out urgently. "No other cop will even set foot in the Blue anymore. Those people deserve protection. They need it a damn sight more than the Mayor in his fancy, security augmented mansion."

"I can't," Simon growled, determined to win this stare-down. "You're the last Sentinel on his feet in this entire city. You're already doing the work of five, and you're needed on the high profile cases."

"You mean I'm needed to put on a show so the brass still feel safe in their beds at night-"

"You're needed to protect the people who still pay their taxes! You know, the ones who make it possible for you to do your job?" Simon spit out sarcastically. "Play guardian angel on your own time if you want, but while you're on the clock, you'll cover Red, White, and Green sector crimes only. End of discussion!"

"Sir!" Ellison snapped, standing so rigidly at attention that the air around him practically thrummed. "Will that be all, sir?"

Simon sighed and sat back in his chair, watching his friend sadly. "Jim, don't be like this. You know I don't like this any more than you do."

The stone wall in front of him refused to soften, and Simon pulled out an unlit cigar and bit savagely into it. "Fine. Go play martyr. Just do it in approved city sectors only. Dismissed."

Ellison all but snapped a salute as he turned and stalked out of Banks' office. Simon cursed and in a rare moment of impotent frustration, smashed his cigar to dust on his desk.

*_*_*_*

The raging fury in his chest was so overwhelming Jim could hardly breath, hardly knew where he was. Gasping for air he stared wildly around the Major Crimes bullpen, the sounds and smells of a normal workday failing to ground him in reality.

_Protect!_ screamed his instincts, and his body quivered under the blow, muscles twitching to run, fight, keep the tribe safe! Drowning under the onslaught he closed his eyes and tried to center himself, tried to remember the most basic exercises every Sentinel child learned. _Help them!_ screamed across his nerves and he ground his teeth in agony. His instincts had always been extraordinarily acute, even as a child, and in the past those instincts had led him into trouble that other Sentinels had able to talk themselves out of.

"Yeah, and they also contributed to the best solve rate, the best save rate of any detective on the force!" he whispered to himself, once again arguing against his father's insistence to "be more normal, son."

Damn! His eyes flew open, his body already moving towards his desk. Files upon files were crammed around his computer, the envelopes almost exclusively blue and grey, showing better than words where Jim's attention had been focused in the past year. Other desks had white, green, or even a few coveted red folders, but only Jim doggedly continued to march into the quarantined city sectors and dared to bring justice and Protection to the unfortunates still living there.

He wouldn't give up on these people. Here, Maryanne Rice, 54 year old woman, robbed of her weekly food stamps. How would she eat if he didn't find them? And who but a Sentinel could find her food stamps and ID them by scent? Or what about Robert Collins, missing for ten days, reported gone by a dirty, haggard looking wife with too many kids and not enough teeth? The look of hopelessness in her eyes made Jim want to punch something, to promise miracles. Made him want to find Collins, even if it was just the man's body, to prove that someone cared.

Case file after case file, each one a person, a family, a member of his tribe. Each one desperately in need of their Sentinel. How cold he turn his back on them? How could his superiors ask him to?

Well, he wouldn't. He simply couldn't, no more than he could walk up the side of a building or breathe water. He had a hardwired, ingrained need to protect built into his blood and sinews, and his body would drag itself across broken glass to do its job, even if the mind tried to say otherwise.

Jim smiled grimly, finally feeling the threat of emotional zone-out starting to fade. Calming exercises might work well and good for those pansy-ass Sentinels with two or three senses, or those whose instincts had been blunted by centuries of selective breeding. But good old-fashioned police work was all he'd ever need to keep the senses in line.

A small cough, really just a clearing of the throat had Jim glance up in surprise to the man in front of his desk. Obviously he'd approached while Jim was still semi-zoned, and he immediately catalogued torn jeans, threadbare Henley, curly hair, strong jaw and blue, blue eyes. God those eyes, a man could get lost in them, lost and found and never want to make his way out of their extraordinary depths... so open... so blue...

"Detective Ellison? Um, Detective?" Blair Sandburg waved his hand uselessly in front of a blank face, glanced around for help, then back to the mesmerized gaze in front of him. The nametag on the desk was right, but how could this be the great Sentinel Ellison? Who'd ever heard of a healthy, adult Sentinel falling into a zone?

*_*_*_*

Blair felt a panic attack looming, and glanced around again. God, he'd broken him. Would they notice? If he just sort of walked out and turned around, could he have a do over? Blair waved his hand in front of Ellison's face again, feeling more and more frantic. Respirations solid, tissue perfusion excellent, no sign of petechiae hemorrhage around the eyes that came with the Flu, so what the hell was wrong with him?

In desperation Blair leaned into Ellison's face, his breath bouncing between them, he was so close. "Detective? C'mon, I know you must be seeing or hearing something pretty incredible, but it's time to come back now." Years of training brought his hands to Ellison's neck, fingers gently wrapped around the back and thumbs stroking the jaw line. "James Ellison, it's time to wake up now. That's it James, that's it, you're doing so good, now it's time to wake up, just focus on my voice."

Blair imagined that Ellison's eyes maybe twitched a little, the pupils maybe contracted at the sound of his soft murmuring. Anxious to believe, he kept stroking the jaw, and actually felt the moment when the Sentinel relaxed back into his body, heard the deep breath and saw those gorgeous blue eyes blink him back into focus. "S'Jim." The man slurred.

"Jim then," Blair smiled, still stroking with his thumbs. "Do you know where you are Jim?"

The gaze focused sharply, and Ellison stood abruptly, dumping Blair off the desk where he'd been perched and onto the floor.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, hauling Blair up by his shirt and scanning the bullpen around them. "And why didn't any of you jokers think to stop him?"

"Hey man, we all just thought it was some Sentinel thing," a black man with a wide, apologetic smile shrugged.

"Thanks H, remind me to show you a 'Sentinel thing' or two at the next poker night." He gave Blair another shake by the shirt, then released him, ignoring the protests and laughter of his friends to focus on the man who'd caused the problem in the first place.

"What the hell did you do to me? Assaulting and deliberately causing a police officer to zone is a criminal offense worth more time in Leavenworth than you've got fleas on your whole body." Jim loomed menacingly, and ignored the thought that he was enjoying being close to this young man more than he should be.

"Hey, Joe Friday, I resent that! Just because I'm a little short on cash does not mean that I don't know how to stay clean, thank you very much. I'd have thought that a Sentinel would be less likely to judge based on economic class. And I didn't "assault" you, you just zoned. Period."

Blair, far from being intimidated, pushed himself up on his toes right into Jim's face, his finger stabbed Jim in the breastbone in emphasis. Jim winced, more from his words than the sharp pokes, and grabbed the shorter man by the shoulder, steering him into a nearby conference room.

"What? You gonna rough me up in here? Take away my civil liberties? I'm a law-abiding citizen man, hell I could have just left you zoned and no one would have been able to blame me!"

"Cool it, Chief." Jim snapped, embarrassment and shame making him short tempered. "I'm not going to hurt you, and how the hell did you know how to end a zone, and who are you anyway?"

Blair paused mid-gesture, mouth open to launch into his next argument. "Oh, yeah, I guess we could start there." He smiled, mulish stubbornness suddenly giving way to a bright and open happiness, and Jim could swear he felt a third zone gathering like a storm at the edges of his mind. "I'm Blair Sandburg, professor of Children's Studies at the Cascade Sentinel School. I'm here because I think I know how to stop the Flu."

*_*_*_*

 

"What?" Jim asked, wondering if his hearing was turned down or something. "Children's studies? Stop the Sentinel Flu? How in the world-"

Blair cut him off before he could sputter on. "It's about Guides man! The Guides can stop the Sentinels from dying." In one of those mercurial shifts, Blair was suddenly all passionate intensity and back in Jim's face. "It has to stop! Our world is dying, Jim. Humanity needs its Protectors, and the Sentinels need their Guides!"

"Hold it, hold it." Jim put his hand up, stepping away from Blair and massaging an impending headache with his free hand. "Okay, lets start from the beginning. You're a children's teacher, right?" At Blair's nod Jim continued, "Which explains why you know about zone-outs. And as a kiddie teacher, you think you've discovered the miracle cure that has eluded the most advanced scientists and physicians the world over?"

"I know, it sounds sort of arrogant, doesn't it?" Blair smiled, "But you see-"

"Not arrogant Chief. Crazy. We're done here."

Jim turned to leave, only to find one hundred and fifty pounds of curly haired angry in his face.

"Oh no you don't. You're not going anywhere. I'm right, I know I'm right. I'm going to stop the Sentinels from dying, and you're going to help me do it."

"With Guides." Jim snarked. "You're going to save us all with training wheels. What's next, give us all popsicles and send us to bed?"

"It is a well known fact that a Sentinel can access depths of strength and focus with a Guide's help that he or she can never attain working alone. This has been true as far back as recorded history and remains true in medical testing as late as the twenty-first century."

"Well this is the twenty-second century, Darwin, and one hundred year old speculation isn't going to cut it. Guides are for children, nothing more. We can't keep them after puberty or we become so dependent on them that we won't ever function as independent adults. Sounds to me like someone just doesn't know when to cut the umbilical cord."

"And it sounds to me like you're so afraid of being dependent on someone that you're willing to let thousands of Sentinels and millions of people suffer because of it!"

Fury burst free in his chest, and Jim found himself slamming Sandburg up against a wall before he knew what his body was doing. "Those are my friends and my brothers you're talking about," he whispered fiercely. "I would give my life to save even one of them! So don't you even think of saying that crap to me."

"You'd give your life, maybe, but risk your independence? Hell, your trust? I'm not asking you to make me your Guide. Sentinels don't need to establish the bond to overcome the Flu. I'm just asking you to hear me out. If you keep messing with me, you'll never figure out what's up with all you Sentinels, and then you'll be dead. Hard to help people when you're dead, Mr. I Don't Need Anybody."

"All right, all right," Jim blew out a breath and lowered Blair to his feet. "Look, I'll see if I can't get you the phone number of a couple of guys, maybe get you in to see a buddy whose been in a coma-"

"That is so great, Jim, but there's no time. I've already researched hundreds of cases, spoke to dozens of Sentinels, both partial and True on the phone. And I've been to more hospitals than I can even keep track of. We can't stop the progression of illness after the coma sets in, and we sure can't do it after they start coughing up blood and dropping dead. I need active, aware Sentinels. I need field data to support my research. I need you, man."

"Why me?" Jim threw his hands up, ignoring the fact that he probably sounded like one of Sandburg's kids.

"Because," Blair said with a wry grin, "I've spent my entire savings just getting to you." He pulled his hand out of a pocket and the smell of old copper and lead coins floated off his palm. "Not even enough left for a bus ride home."

"Great. Not only do I have to let you do your 'field testing' with me, but now I have to give you a ride home too?"

"Unless you want me crashing at your place." Blair replied cheerily. "C'mon, I've got everything we'll need in my backpack, but I left it at your desk. After that I'm all yours, big guy. Where to first?"

Jim thought back to his desk, the piles of grey and blue folders, the voices across the city crying in pain and fear that he could hear even in his sleep. "You ever been to the Square when they hand out food stamps?"

*_*_*_*

 

Jim loaded Blair into his truck with a minimum of fuss. Most of the detectives and staff at Major Crimes were used to seeing homeless or just scruffy-looking people show up at Ellison's desk for help. As a Sentinel he never had to worry about landing a high profile case to make his career, his genetics had ensured him a prestigious place already. And as a Sentinel he never turned anyone away from his desk empty-handed. Even the worst smelling, most strung out meth-heads got a sandwich and directions to a shelter with one hand, while Ellison covered his nose with the other.

So seeing Ellison lead Blair back to his desk and then down to the parking garage was just situation normal for the CPD, and if he had a hand pressed against the small of Blair's back and seemed to hover a little protectively over his new charge, well Blair did smell better than most of the people who came to Ellison for help.

"Sorry about the whole, you know, uh..." Jim began as he maneuvered the truck around debris of trash and the occasional damaged building littering the street.

"You mean the grabbing and shaking and throwing up against the wall thing?" Blair supplied, smiling and digging in his backpack.

"Yeah, that. Listen, I'm not normally so prone to, ah, physical intimidation." He rubbed a hand over his brow, frowning at the thought. "Honestly I'm not really sure what came over me."

"Oh, it's the Guide thing." Blair replied absently, now pulling wires and half assembled electronics from the bag in his lap.

"What?" Jim swerved sharply to avoid a new crater in the road.

"Hey!"

"Sorry."

"You know, you could drive slower along here. It's not like the city's been looking after this piece of road recently," he said with some heat, wires and pieces of unnamed gadgetry now all over the floor.

"And you could stop changing the subject," Jim shot back. "What Guide thing?"

With a click and a whisper of movement, Jim registered his passenger's seatbelt was off, and Blair was now scrounging under the dash, his muffled voice carrying up to Jim. "Guides get that all the time from Sentinels. Well, not the shaking and wall slamming thing, but, you know, the physical closeness thing." His voice was clear now as he looked up from the floor. "No big deal, man. All is forgiven." Jim glanced down the length of his leg, past his knee to where Blair sat crouched comfortably on the floor, and had to shake off an odd sense of satisfaction at seeing him there.

"Are you saying that you expected me to hurt you?"

"No, no man!" Blair leaned forward, one hand braced on Jim's knee for balance as the truck swerved again. "I knew you wouldn't hurt me. That's the point. You just had to be close to me. Your instincts were telling you to get close and read me and know me."

Jim risked another glance down and was caught by the intensity, the passion in those blue eyes, the warm hand on his knee, the feel of Blair's chest pressed against his leg-

Screaming pain ripped across his senses and he yelled as he jerked his head back up, swerving to avoid the honking car he'd almost rammed.

"Easy Jim, that's right, just let that car horn fade away, there you go, easy does it..."

The soft crooning did help. The pain was fading almost immediately. Damn it. He wasn't a brain-damaged Halfie who needed someone to hold his hand. He was a True, and had been managing these senses since well before most Sentinels his age had even known how to avoid a zone.

He deliberately took the next turn too fast, sending Blair tumbling, and took a guilty satisfaction in hearing the thunk of skull impacting glove box. "Better buckle up Chief, it only gets rougher."

Ignoring the insulting mutters from the floor, Jim weaved his way through the cordoned off areas of the city, nodding familiarly to the National Guard outposts as he entered the quarantined city sectors. Green gave way to Grey, which was wrapped around the Blue sector like a Band-Aid around a sore. Cascade Square was in the middle of Grey, and the weekly food stamp lines were already over a mile long.

*_*_*_*

Only an hour into the stakeout and Blair was ready to spit with frustration. Every instrument that he'd tried to use to measure Jim's autonomic responses to stress had been met with a sarcastic "Oh, that's subtle Chief. Let's just make a freak show of ourselves and see if the bad guys laugh themselves into giving up."

He was down to taking notes by pen and paper, his hand-held having long ago been cannibalized for spare parts. He had years of observing Sentinels using their senses, both children and those unfortunates who'd been born with a handicap that required Guiding into adulthood. Even so he was having trouble establishing a baseline for Jim's abilities. It seemed Guiding a true Sentinel was nothing at all like he'd imagined. Jim was a monster! A genius with his body and mind working in tandem. It was a symphony of skill and evolution, and Blair could hardly take his eyes off of Jim long enough to write it all down.

They were watching the food stampers by the simple method of pretending to be in line themselves. Or more accurately, they were watching for anyone who was showing more interest than normal in the stampers. National Guardsmen wandered up and down the line, keeping order and reminding the stampers that getting rowdy wouldn't get them their food stamps any faster. Jim, with an old Jags cap and a faded leather jacket, blended into the crowd better than Blair would have imagined. Apparently he was the only one who could see the fierce, predatory sharpness hidden in that gaze.

Huh. Fierce. Predatory sharpness. God, what was next? Was he going to start rhapsodizing about Jim's ice blue eyes? His bulging muscles and soft lips that could quirk into the most heartbreaking smile...

Okay. Not helping. In an effort to distract himself he groped for the first topic that came to mind.

"So, food stamps. Not exactly Major Crimes material here, Jim. How did you end up with this case?"

Jim turned to him with a frosty look. "No, Sandburg, stolen property is rightfully theft, but Higgins has been in a coma for three weeks, right next to Wilkerson from arson. I'm covering for them, just like I have for Bates from homicide and Sharon from missing persons, both of whom died last year. Any other questions, Professor?"

"Geeze Jim, it's cool! I didn't mean to insult your Sentinelness or anything. Just trying to make conversation."

Jim eyed him for another minute, then grunted and turned away. Blair blew a long breath out and added a few notes on the likely synergistic effects of testosterone with increased use of senses, with the side effect of major pissiness.

The morning went like that, periods of silence while Jim scanned the crowds using all his senses, Blair absorbed in scanning Jim to the exclusion of watching his own feet. The second time he tripped over a broken piece of concrete, Jim was noticeably slower to remove his hand from Blair's elbow. By the time they were halfway up the line Jim was in constant contact with Blair, shoulders brushing, hand steering him around obstacles, hips bumping when they took a step forward. Jim seemed determined to maintain his frosty silence, which only made his physical proximity all the more evident. Blair gave up trying to draw him out and was scribbling furiously, wondering if he'd have enough pages to last the day when a shadow blocked out his light. He looked up into Jim's curious face reading over his shoulder.

"I am not, what did you write? Instinctively drawn to maintain my territory? What does that even mean?"

"It means that as a Sentinel you recognize a viable Guide and firstly, want to protect me and secondly want to let the other Sentinels know that I'm, you know, not available."

"Available?" Jim quirked an eyebrow, but his voice was mild. Apparently he'd decided to get over his earlier pissiness, or maybe he was just looking for new ammo. Either way this was the first overture Jim had given him in hours and he was determined to press on.

"Yeah. We see it in kids all the time. The need to mark territory and protect it from the other kids, the driving force for safety that only a Guide can provide."

"Those are kids, Chief. They do that to their parents, too. Trust me, I haven't felt a driving need to go anywhere near my father in a long time." Jim chuckled dryly, apparently satisfied with his argument and took another step in line.

Blair just smiled, and kept smiling as Jim turned back to him. "What?"

He quirked his own eyebrow, and Jim blew an exasperated breath and snatched his hand back from the nape of Blair's neck. "Told you man, it's instinctive."

Jim balled up his fists and shoved them into his coat pockets, hunching down against an imaginary chill. "Is any of this actually helping you in your little crusade, or am I being annoyed beyond reason for nothing?"

"Oh no, you're being a great help. Huge." Blair grinned and went back to his pen and paper, noting that Trues tended to sulk when they were called on their instinctive reactions.

In the end the job was a simple one. One of the volunteers at the Square spent far too much time watching the stampers and not enough time watching Jim. Between one scribbled line and the next Jim leaped away from Blair, dragged the man out from behind his booth and was cuffing him on the ground, reading his rights. A quick frisk showed hundreds of dollars of stamps in his pockets and no way to explain them.

The National Guard had their hands full keeping the stampers from instituting their own brand of justice. Jim handed the thief over to their custody and spent the rest of the afternoon tracking the owners of the stamps by the residual smell left on their envelopes. Blair admired the simple efficiency of the plan - not only would the thief probably be present, but Jim was able to find the owners of the lost property in this same crowd.

More than one person burst into tears when presented with their weekly food relief, making Blair's heart swell with pride. Not everyone there was going home happy - some had spent their stamps already and were unable to get more, no matter how hard they begged. But those who had lost theirs by foul play were so overwhelmed at being treated fairly, at being Protected, that the whole crowd cheered every time another owner was located.

Jim kept throwing odd glances over his shoulder at Blair, and finally couldn't keep from asking, "Not the sort of glamorous job you expected?"

Blair cleared his throat, surprised to find himself a little choked up. "Jim, this is exactly what I'd hoped to find."

Jim seemed a little surprised, then quietly pleased at that, and Blair noticed Jim didn't pull his hand away the next time he found himself hanging on to the Guide. "All right," he thought to himself. "This is progress."

*_*_*_*_*

Jim finished the day in a much better mood than he'd ever have imagined, considering how it started in Simon's office. He still didn't know how he'd tell Banks that he'd spent the entire shift in Grey when he wasn't even supposed to set foot beyond the Green anymore. But despite that, he felt... happy. God, had it been so long? Happy. He tried the word on for size and found it a good fit. He was tired but satisfied. He'd worked hard and returned essential supplies to good people. And best of al he had someone to share these little triumphs with, if only for a while.

He smiled to himself, remembering Sandburg's scent as Jim had worked the crowd, how the man had become more and more able to anticipate Jim's sudden turns and responses to the senses, more adept at sliding right next to Jim's side, right where that smell would help the most with the incipient headache that came from using scent in a crowd-

Fuck.

It's not his fault, it's not his fault, it's not his fault. Maybe if he kept repeating that to himself he could squash the urge he felt to pick Blair up and throw him against another wall. Or run like hell in the other direction. Blair wasn't intentionally trying to make Jim dependent on him. At least, Jim was pretty sure.

Honestly, Guides were as instinct driven as Sentinels. All the literature pointed to the relevant genomes in their DNA, the instinctive response to Sentinel pheromones, to voice timbres and vocal inflections created by mouths that learned early on that harsh syllables hurt sensitive ears. Guides could no more stop Guiding than Sentinels could stop Protecting.

So no, Blair probably wasn't trying to make Jim into his own personal lab rat. Probably.

Just to be safe, though, he'd better cut this little partnership short and send Sandburg back to whatever strange little world he'd crawled out of.

"Sandburg, time to wrap it up!" Blair'd been interviewing the last victim, god only knew why. Wasn't Jim supposed to be the subject of Blair's little project? Squashing another surge of irritation he turned and strode towards his vehicle, parked safely with the Guardsmen's. If the man didn't move it he'd lose his ride and that was his own tough luck.

Hearing a muffled "Oops, that's my cue," and scrambling steps behind him, Jim took the time to unlock the passenger side door before swinging around and sliding into the driver's seat. Mollified by Blair's promptness, Jim was even considering buying supper for the both of them when amidst the detritus of scientific gadgets and note paper Blair was juggling he spotted-

"A phone number! You used my investigation to get a date?"

Furious for the umpteenth time that day, he peeled out of the Square, daring God or anyone else to get in his way.

"Not a date man!" Sandburg protested, hanging on for dear life to the roll bar. "It's just a follow up interview, in case I need more information later-"

"Like her bra size or whether she likes cherry or strawberry lube?" Jim knew he was overreacting, but just as with everything else involving Sandburg, he couldn't seem to put a lid on it. The man made everything inside him want to reach out and shake him, and then put him somewhere safe where Jim would always be able to get his hands on him. Like beside him, or behind him...

... or under him.

God help him, it was Sentinel Syndrome. He'd spent less than a day with the man, and he was already showing classic signs. The dependence, the mood swings -

-the urge to shove him down and kiss that hot, wet mouth until he moaned Jim's name.

He stopped the truck so sharply that Blair flew forward, slapping his hands against the dash to protect himself. "This isn't working, Chief."

"Well, if you could sort out the skinny pedal from the brake pedal, and try using a judicious amount of both-"

"I mean the research, smart ass. I can't keep doing this. Give me directions to your place and I'll drop you off."

Blair's mouth hung open, shock writ large on his face. "No man, no! It's only been one day. I don't have nearly enough-"

"It hasn't even been one day, and I've had all I can take!" Jim roared back, his shout causing air currents to swirl around them in the enclosed space. "Do the words Sentinel Syndrome mean anything to you?"

"SS?" Blair looked truly stunned. "That, no Jim, that happens over weeks, sometimes months of continuous contact. It's a precursor to the bond," he went on as though Jim himself had no idea what the hell it was. "Sometimes Sentinels who truly need Guidance never enter into it at all. No one knows why or how each individual responds, not really. But a day?" he smiled weakly. "Not gonna happen."

"It's happening Sandburg. Right now." Jim took a deep breath, consciously focusing, opening up touch and letting his mind guide his body into a state of relaxed awareness. He was one with his senses, and his body was one with him. He was whole, and as a whole being he was-

-being watched. He cracked open an eye to see Blair's fascination leaking all over the place. Hell.

"Look, maybe you're right." he conceded, not willing to strip that look off of Blair's expressive face. "Maybe I'm just really run down. Either way, I need to go back to my home and just cool it for the night."

"You got it," Blair nodded enthusiastically. "Anything you need man, anything at all." His head was bobbing so much Jim was afraid some of his crazy thoughts might break free and start bouncing around the cab. Sighing, he put the truck back in gear. "Where's home, Chief?"

"Fourth and Nicollet, by the Sears Bridge."

He was a whole being, and as a whole being he would not put his fist through his window. "Sandburg," Jim ground out through clenched teeth, "that's in the Blue."

"Yeah Jim, I know," the little bastard replied innocently, arranging his notes as though nothing in the world was wrong.

"You can't take the bus out of the Blue," Jim said, oh-so-reasonably, "it doesn't even run in Grey anymore." Therefore Blair could not live in the Blue. Ipso facto. Surely Blair saw this.

"Sure. I just walked out to the Green and hopped a bus. No big deal."

Walked. Jim thought. He'd walked through a violent, gun-infested nightmare of a war zone and hopped a bus. Just thought he'd go for a stroll. God. There was no help for it. Absolutely none. Simon would forgive him everything, even help him bury the body. No one would ever be the wiser. He ground his teeth a little harder and kept driving.

*_*_*_*

Twenty minutes later Blair looked up from his notes to find the truck driving sedately in a very respectable part of White sector, near the waterfront. "Um Jim, do we have another case or something?"

"No," Jim bit out, annoyed with himself but unable to argue his instincts down. "You'll be staying with me. I've got a spare bedroom and-"

"Whoa, whoa, hold on there kemosabe. For a man who was all worried about the Sentinel bond just half an hour ago, this is quite a turn around. Not that I mind, because I'd have had to hitch a ride just to get to the station tomorrow-"

"Just stop!" And more quietly. "Please, Blair please. Stop saying things that will make me want to hurt people."

A look of confusion, then lightning fast comprehension followed. "Oh, I get it, because hitching a ride isn't safe, even in the better parts of town, and you'd be worried that I'd get hurt and-"

"Yes, exactly." Jim replied, parking the truck. "Now get your gear upstairs."

"Jim! I can't stay here!"

Jim quirked an eyebrow.

"It's not that you're not a good provider or anything, or even, oh hell. I mean, how long would I have to stay?"

"I don't know, Sandburg!" Jim blew out an annoyed breath and grabbed Blair's backpack, holding it hostage as he started up the steps to the loft. "Until you find a safer place to live, I guess."

Blair scrambled after him, following his backpack with anxious eyes. "Jim, everything of value that I own is in that pack. I can't exactly afford to go house hunting, remember?"

Jim ignored him. Blair was being unreasonable. Blair lived in the most festering, violent, awful part of Cascade and it was a wonder he'd lived long enough for Jim to find and Protect him. Blair would just have to deal with living in a closet sized bedroom and having the second shower and be grateful for it.

Jim unlocked the door to the loft. Just stepping in, breathing the perfectly balanced environment, the soft smells and soothing colors was always a delight. This was a good place. He'd brought Blair to a good place. Tomorrow would sort out itself, it usually did.

"Bedroom's that way, Chief," he motioned, his good humor restored. "Kitchen's over there, bathroom around the corner. Make yourself at home." Humming contentedly, Jim wandered down the hall to the shower, mind already planning for supper.

Blair looked around, feeling a little lost. Sure he'd been prepared to sacrifice a lot for his mission. He was attempting to save all of mankind by saving the Sentinels from dying! He expected hardship, ridicule, even a fair amount of personal danger in the mix. But this? Who would have anticipated being kidnapped and forced to live in a nice place with running water and Sentinel quality light fixtures? He had to admit, he was completely out of his depth when dealing with a True.

Quietly he set up his laptop and began researching Sentinel Syndrome.

*_*_*_*

Supper had been an informal affair, Blair typing up his notes in the living room, Jim humming contentedly from the kitchen and then serving some really excellent roast beef on rye. Blair had been forced to pause, his stomach reminding him how long it had been since he'd had time to stand in line for stamps. He'd devoured it, potatoes and all, and was not surprised when a second helping appeared on his plate.

Jim seemed far more mellow at home, which could be a result of being in his home territory, or could just be Jim when he was off-duty. Either way he slumped down companionably on the couch and flipped on the vid-viewer while Blair went back to his notes.

Eventually Blair needed to reference something in his bag and he reached for it, only to find it on Jim's lap, contents mostly emptied and organized on the coffee table in front of him.

Of course, Blair grinned. Give a Sentinel a closed box and he'll not only have it opened but will catalogue and classify every little thing inside of it.

"Find anything interesting?" he prompted, just to let Jim know he wasn't mad.

"Who're Dinozzo and Gibbs?" Jim asked absently, flipping through a paper file.

"Umm, Sentinel/Guide pair, out of NCIS. Stationed in Washington DC, actually." Blair cast around, trying to find a way to switch the subject. Given Jim's less than open stance on adult Sentinels and Guides, he was sure this couldn't lead anywhere good.

"NCIS?" Jim looked thoughtful. "They're good. Really good. I was Army Rangers myself, but if I'd ever gotten in trouble I know that I wouldn't have minded having people like them backing me." He looked up from the file. "How can this Dinozzo guy have made the grade if he needed a Guide?"

Here we go, thought Blair. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for the rest of it. "He's a True, Jim, just like you. Turns out he just sort of accidentally bonded to Gibbs. That's his boss, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, actually."

Jim looked amused, although Blair couldn't tell if it was from the thought of a True "accidentally" bonding or Gibb's name.

"So, he went to work for this Guide, who happens to be his boss, and he happens to bond with him, and what, he was fine with that?" Jim actually seemed to want to talk about it. Blair looked closer. No warning signs of temper - the jaw muscle wasn't ticking, the eyes remained clear and calm. Okay then.

"Well, they didn't really know they'd bonded, not until Dinozzo contracted the pneumatic plague."

"Wait, he did what?"

"Yeah, some nut job sent it to the office in an envelope a la' anthrax."

"Geeze, and I thought our criminals were nuts."

"Yeah, no kidding. Anyway, he was all set to just check out, coughing up his lungs and everything, and then Gibbs just sort of strolls into his isolation room and baps him on the head and orders him not to die."

"That's it?"

"Yeah. Close as I can tell, the bond had been forming slowly over two years of very close, very intense working conditions. Saving each other's life, trusting each other, almost never apart for more than a few hours each night. Then wham, Gibbs somehow knows that he can order Tony, ah, that's Dinozzo, not to die, and he doesn't."

Jim held the file in both hands, but didn't seem to be seeing the words on the page in front of him. Blair wondered what exactly he was looking for.

"So this is where your theory started? That Guides could stop us from dying of the Flu? With these two?"

"No man, that was just some majorly awesome validation. I told you, I've worked with Sentinels and Guides for years and studied hundreds of case files. All a Sentinel needs is for a trusted Guide that understands his individual body to help him access the most incredible parts of his physiology. Senses are expanded and better controlled, muscle responses are stronger and faster, healing times are improved, all with the presence of a Guide. It's all in here." He gestured at his computer. "Sentinels have been socialized to work without Guides in the past few hundred years," he gave a meaningful look at Jim, "but they evolved with Guides as their partners. A Sentinel with a Guide is a better Protector, Jim."

"And you theorize that a Guide, a trusted, but not necessarily bonded Guide," Blair nodded, "could stop a Sentinel from dying once he or she has contracted the Flu."

"Yes Jim," Blair replied gravely. "That's exactly what I think."

Jim stood up, wandered around the loft quietly, and Blair finally realized that he was checking the security measures on the doors and windows. He sat there in the semi-gloom, wondering if they were done, and kept sitting as Jim walked softly up the steps to his bedroom.

"It won't work, Blair," he called down softly, at last.

"Why not," Blair whispered.

"Because we can't share our Guides, Blair. Your history books tell you that? They'd have to be bonded to be of use to us, and I don't know anyone who'd be willing to live like that."

Blair stared at the computer in front of him. Years of effort, thousands of hours of work compiled in front of him. The only hope he could see to keep civilization from crumbling under its own weight.

"G'night Jim." he whispered.

"G'night Chief, see you in the morning."

"Yeah."

*_*_*_*

The next day started out pretty shitty, as far as Jim was concerned. Getting reamed out by Simon before the man had had his first cup of coffee was never pretty. And it didn't help that, technically, Jim didn't have a leg to stand on.

"I told you in no uncertain terms, stay out of the Grey and Blue! And what do you do? Why, you disappear! Off to the Grey. No cell phone coverage there, Jim. Did you think of that? What if there'd been an emergency and no way to get a hold of the last functional Sentinel in all of Cascade? Did you think of that while you were on your little food stamp crusade? Did you!"

"Sir, I can explain."

"Explain? Oh this better be good." Simon leaned back in his chair, voice rich with sarcasm. "Tell me how you're going to explain away violating a direct order from a superior officer, Jim. Let's hear it."

"This is Blair Sandburg, Professor of... of Sentinel Studies." Blair didn't miss the quick edit of his title, and decided that bringing up the age group of Sentinels he studied wasn't actually pertinent to this conversation. He leaned around from behind Jim and gave a small wave to Simon.

"And he what? Kidnapped you at gunpoint and made you find the stamper thief?"

"Jesus, Simon, no. Professor Sandburg is doing research regarding the Sentinel Flu. He thinks he can stop it, Simon. He thinks he can keep the rest of us from dying but he needs to study a True in the field. I agreed to help him but I had to choose a case where he wouldn't be in danger. Tracking down a stamp thief seemed like a safe bet-"

"In the Grey. That's like dragging a steak through a wolf pack, Jim. You put that civilian in danger and disobeyed-"

"Sir! He was never in danger. Not once while he was in my presence, sir." Again Blair decided to keep his comments to himself, especially regarding his safety in tandem with Jim's driving.

"Fine. So while you were babysitting and chasing down petty thieves, Senator Cole's daughter was abducted." Simon drew a red file out of his desk drawer and slapped it in front of Jim. "I'd just as soon have you suspended for insubordination, but he insists that you be assigned to this case, Detective."

"Sir, I have over thirty open cases on my desk-"

"And all of them the wrong color, Jim." Simon paused at that, and winced. "God that came out sounding terrible. But you know what I mean, Jim. You can Protect people all you like, but you need to Protect the ones still supporting our infrastructure first."

"Sir, I don't think-"

"Jim! You don't get a say in this. Now be a good detective, and pick up the case."

Jim scowled and picked up the folder. He couldn't argue or ignore his way out of this one, not without losing his job. And as tempting as that sounded some days, he could Protect better from inside the CPD than from outside it. He took a long breath to ease the anger in his gut, one that ended on a quiet cough. "Fine, I'll take the case."

"I know you will, and you're already twelve hours behind on it. Coordinate with Rafe and Henri, they'll bring you up to speed."

All that long day, Jim was sure the only thing keeping him sane was Blair's outrageous sense of humor, Blair's impeccable timing for fresh coffee or warm soup from the machine. Blair's scent.

He grew more and more tired as the day wore on, hashing through background checks and phone records. In the first twelve hours every good lead had dribbled away to nothing and there were no doors to pound on, no bad guys to intimidate. Just endless lines of data making his oversensitive eyes water, and too much cologne and deodorant haze in the bullpen, making him cough and cough.

He looked up from the torture of his computer screen to see Blair joking around with H, and he smiled to see the two of them laughing easily. Blair was integrating well with the rest of the MC team. Good, that was good. In ways Jim didn't want to have to admit, it was good to have a Guide nearby.

Not that he wanted someone else calling the shots with his body, mind. It's just that Simon had been a friend for years and still obviously couldn't understand what it felt like to have your instincts grab you by the throat and mess up your life. With every Sentinel around Jim falling ill or dying he'd been dealing, alone, with instinct-less people for too long. It felt good to have someone by his side, someone who knew what he was feeling and who felt something similar themselves.

It felt good to have Blair there.

*_*_*_*

All that long day, Blair could hardly drag himself from Jim's side. Every sniffle, every cough sent him flying back to Jim with coffee, or soup, or hell, the latest bad joke he'd heard. Anything to keep Jim's mind off of his senses. Because that's how it started sometimes, right? Sometimes they just got sick, and became so enthralled with their bodies fighting back that they just... got lost.

At the same time he knew if he hovered too much Jim would snap and snarl and make him leave. Blair knew all too well that Jim would rather be dead of the Flu than admit to needing help. So he joked with Henri and Rafe, ran errands for the detectives, and tried to convince himself it was just a bug. Just a cold. Nothing special, nothing to get worked up about.

Until the next time Jim coughed.

Blair just about sobbed in relief when Jim stood up and announced it was time to go home. He thought he'd been doing a good job, hell a stellar job of hiding his fears. But the look of pity from Henri and Rafe belied that. Or maybe they were counting the number of times Jim had coughed today too. Either way, it was an eerie, not-quite normal cheerfulness that accompanied them out the door, as though each one was hoping to god it wasn't the last time they'd see their Sentinel alive.

Stop it with the negative vibes already! Jim needs you positive. He needs calm, soothing scents, not fear and dread. Get with the program, Guide!

Determined to keep his good cheer up, Blair chatted brightly all the way home, insisting that Jim take the first shower ("Thanks so much Sandburg, and remind me who owns this place again?") and cooking something light and easy for an overtaxed system to digest. No fresh fruits or veggies. No undercooked meat. Please, please let him be okay. Please.

Blair figured that there was enough salt in the soup he was making that a few tears wouldn't be noticed. Even by a Sentinel.

*_*_*_*

Jim tried to keep things light between them, passing off his fatigue with jokes and muffling his coughs as best he could. Blair was obviously worried, his scent was sour and thready, his pulse jumping with every one of Jim's coughs, and it hurt Jim's heart to be the cause of it.

It wasn't until Blair went off to take his shower, though, that Jim made his decision. Picking up his phone he dialed a number he'd committed to memory the day before.

"NCIS, Dinozzo speaking. And if this is about those free thongs for the secretary staff, I swear I had nothing to do with it."

"This is Special Agent Anthony Dinozzo?" Maybe the kid was touched in the head after all.

Jim could hear the man on the other side of the line sit up straight, feet plopping to the floor from the desk.

"Hello? Sorry, just assumed at this time of night. Anyway, yes, Special Agent Dinozzo here, and you are?"

"Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade PD. Sorry to be calling you so late, but I have a rather urgent personal matter to-"

"You're dying."

"... Yes. I know."

"You're a Sentinel and you've got the Flu. I can hear the congestion building up in your lungs already. You've got maybe a day left. Maybe two if you take it easy."

"Yes, thank you, Agent Dinozzo," Jim snapped with irritation. "That's essentially the purpose of this call."

"Please, call me Tony. And how do you think I can help you? Not that I wouldn't love to help a brother Sentinel, but really it's a bit out of my league, not to mention my jurisdiction..."

"Tell me about Gibbs."

An indrawn breath on the other line and Jim heard snapping sounds and frantic fabric whupping that could only be an arm waved at another person. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard a hissed "McGee!" from Tony and more frantic waving.

"Ahem, sorry about that. Detective Ellison was it?"

"Yes, and you can stop stalling for time. We can talk while your techie gets you my background."

"McGee's a great computer guy, hell on wheels with the whole breaking and hacking thing, but not so hot with the paying attention to field signals." This was obviously directed with some venom to a man sitting a few feet beyond Tony's desk. From the way the sound bounced against Tony's face, Jim estimated it was a fairly good sized room and concluded the other agent must have been just behind and the right of Dinozzo.

"Ah, here we are. Jim Ellison, Cascade you say. I still don't see how I can help..."

"Stop dancing around it. Tell me about Gibbs."

"Huh. Right to the point. He'd like that about you. Sure, I'll tell you about Gibbs. The second "b" is for bastard you know, a real treat to work with. Pushes us harder than anything. And you know what else? He's taken, Sentinel, so back off."

"Don't worry," Jim shot back. This kid was NCIS? How did he ever get past the psych profile? "I've got my own Guide to worry about. Well, he's not actually mine, per se, but..."

"Sandburg. It's gotta be Blair. How's he doing?"

Jim heard the wistful tone in Tony's voice, and for a minute his gut cramped in jealousy. "Remember what you said a minute ago? About Gibbs?"

"Right, right. Sorry. So, you're not bonded, and if I'm reading your file right, you're not only a wealthy son of a bitch, but a True. Lap of luxury, all the finest, and all the inbred snobbery against Guides and those that need 'em. Am I close?"

"Just because I don't want someone else in control of my body, my body for Christ's sake-"

"And people call me self-centered." Tony replied with a harsh little laugh. "Listen up, Ellison. This life, this Sentinel thing, it's not about being comfortable, you know? I was born with a silver spoon up my ass too. And you know what else? I walked away from it when I was twelve, never looked back. There was no room in that world for being who and what I needed to be. No place for a Protector, you hear me?

"Now I'm guessing that you walked away from your old man at some point, walked away from all that wealth and comfort, just like I did. Because it's about more than having things the easy, safe way with us. It's about them. The tribe. And we're willing to go a long way to Protect them, aren't we, Jim."

"But to give away control of ourselves! Even someone like you has to admit that's too much. How can you stand it?"

"Honestly, it wasn't hard at all. Not for 'someone like me'. Blair's probably told you that I barely knew it was happening until it was over. It's made me a better agent, you know. A better Sentinel. I don't know, you think this could the future of Sentinels and Guides? Back in the saddle again, after all this time?"

"Hell, I don't know." Jim rubbed a hand over his face, tired to the bone. "Doesn't look like we have much of a future, one way or the other."

"Grim. Are you sure you're not Mussad? Or possibly Russian?"

"What?"

"Never mind. You were saying?"

Jim hesitated for a minute, then, "What's it like?" Anything worth doing, after all...

"The sex? Absolutely fantastic, of course."

Jim choked a little at that. "Are you ill?"

He heard a chuckle across the phone, then, "Seriously, though, it's not like Gibbs controls me. Well, not more than he normally does. But you know, he's like that with everyone. It's more like he just gives me a nudge when I need it, gives me some focus." He heard the agent shrug. "Really, I'd hate to imagine my life without him. I don't think I could go back to being the other way. Oh, and did I mention the sex? Completely out of this world!"

"Ah, yes. Thank you, Agent Dinozzo. I'll think about what you said."

"Well, don't take too much time there, Jimbo. Like I said, a day, two at most, then..."

"I know."

"You could do worse," Tony said softly. "Blair, he's something else."

"Yeah, I know that, too." he replied in kind.

"Right then, good luck," and the click of the dial tone rang in Jim's ear.

"Have a good talk?" Blair asked from behind him, hovering in the shadow of the bay window.

"Depends. He's either crazy like a fox or just completely nuts. Either way, it's early to bed for us, Chief. Gotta find that little girl in the morning- clock's ticking."

"Yeah, tick tick." Blair echoed, a strained smile on his face.

They both lay awake late into the night, Jim coughing and coughing, Blair in the room below trying to breathe for him.

*_*_*_*

 

It was three in the morning and he must have finally drifted off, because he really couldn't remember being awake when the bleeding had started.

Opening his eyes to find his chest and pillow covered in blood had been a shock. Hearing the sharp wheezing from deep in his chest as he struggled with the bed covers was another. Jesus, he had a life to save. How could he do that if he couldn't even get enough breath to get out of bed?

The answer was, of course, that he would do it anyway. Jessica Cole didn't care whether or not Jim was having a bad night. Her bad day trumped everything else. So he hauled himself out of bed and staggered to the bathroom, clutching the walls and praying to everything he'd ever heard of that Blair didn't see him, face and hands sticky with drying blood.

Minutes later while standing over the running sink, the steam causing him to cough and cough, large, thick clots of blood like jelly in the sink, Jim had to reassess his plan of attack. His lungs were starting to collapse. No way did he have twenty-four hours left, let alone forty-eight. Not enough time to find her. He was out of time, and then she would be, too.

The face looking back from the mirror was pale, pinpoint bruises around his eyes glared from too white skin making him look, well, just as sick as he was, he guessed. Red, red liquid on his lips, grotesque contrast. God-awful taste in his mouth, thick and heavy. Death tasted like shit.

He opened up touch, began an exploration of his internal organs as he'd done every morning since forever. Nothing was working right, nothing was moving. Kidneys starving, liver and gut practically shut down, shunting all blood flow to the heart and brain. Problem was, the fluid was building up in his lungs, increasing the heart's workload, which caused the heart to pump more fluid, which increased the fluid in his lungs...

"Jim! C'mon man I know you're in there. Open up this door Ellison or I'll break it down. I swear I will! Jim!"

Disoriented from the almost-zone, it was all Jim could do to blink against the too bright light before the door cracked and then kicked in. "Oh, no you don't, you're not checking out on me, mister! Now listen to my voice, Jim. That's it, just listen to me. Fuck, Jim, oh God what are we gonna do, huh? Okay, okay, now just breathe, just keep breathing, nice and easy, yeah, we'll both keep breathing, okay, that's good, that's-"

Jim grabbed a hold of Blair's shoulders like a lifeline, forcing his confused senses to focus outwardly. Blair's cracked voice, thick with panic, sharp, invasive fear-smell, gentle hands on his head and face. So gentle.

The world tilted, then settled again and he was lying down, he supposed. He turned his face into Blair's palm, found himself leaning against Blair's chest, both of them crammed and twisted together in the too small space between the sink and the tub.

If he breathed very lightly, the wheezing tickling gurgle in his chest didn't explode into coughing. Good, that was good.

"Jim, I'm going to call for an ambulance, now, okay?" Blair was saying, his cheek pressed against the top of Jim's head. "You just hang tight, and I'll be back, I swear, Jim, I'll come back. Just take it easy and wait for me, okay?"

"No... time." Light breaths. Easy, tickling gusts of breaths. Please don't let him start coughing.

"Jim, oh Jim. Shit!" And now the sharp scent of tears joined the mix. Ironic that the senses were going just as strong as ever while his body collapsed around them.

"Bond." He gasped. Did Blair hear him? Was he even talking? His vision was starting to get grey and ferny around the edges. Lack of oxygen. Tick, tick, tock went the big old clock.

"No Jim, it's not what you want. It's the illness talking. Jim we'll find a way, we'll beat this, but you can't leave me, okay? You just have to stay here, and we'll beat this, I promise. Jim?"

Hell. Here he was bleeding out and suffocating on his bathroom floor, not even a dignified death in bed but next to the toilet for crap's sake, and now the kid was making him beg for the bond. He was going to make Blair pay for this, just as soon as his heart stopped that weird, arrhythmic jiggling it was doing.

"Save her," he gasped and shit that was a mistake, because that last word brought all that gurgling mess in his lungs coughing and coughing up. _Breathe!_ his body screamed. _Please God let me breathe!_

Finally, minutes or possibly years later he found himself bent over Blair's knees, realized by the thrumming in his back that Blair had been pounding the hell out of his lungs, trying to break up the congestion. Small sips of air stolen past bruised lips, then, "Please. Bond."

"Okay, Jim. Whatever you need. You want to bond with me? I'll give that to you. I'd breathe for you if I could, but if you need this from me, you got it. Whatever it takes, Jim, man. Anything at all."

Great. Wonderful. Could they get on with it already?

"As far as I can tell, you've got to imprint all your senses on me, to accept me into your, well, sort of your physical gestalt of the world. Understand? You've got to, um, train your senses to automatically seek me out when you start to get into trouble. It's a reversal of years and years of training that you've already done to not depend on external stimuli and Jim this just isn't going to work! We can't undo a lifetime of training in half an hour!"

Half an hour? Did the kid think he was Superman or something? He'd be lucky to survive the next coughing fit.

"Taste," he breathed, barely daring to move the air to say it.

"What, what was that Jim?" Blair shifted him gently, and now Jim's face was pressed against Blair's, a red smear from his lips against Blair's cheek.

"Taste." He mouthed, tongue and hard palate forming the explosive consonants. Please let this work, please. Jim was starting to realize that there might indeed be worse things in life than leaning on someone as helpful and nice smelling as Blair. He could probably learn to live with Blair by his side, Blair always bouncing and eager and warm around the loft, Blair's scent steadying him, Guiding him. How long had it been since he'd been held so gently? How long since he'd been wrapped in caring like this? "Blair," he mouthed, trying the word on for size. His Guide. Blair.

"Right, taste. Likely the most underutilized sense according to Hoffmann and Mann. Um, well, we'll just... oh I know." And then Blair's fingers were in his mouth, warm and salty and the pulse was threading through the pads that swirled and swirled under Jim's tongue, and how was a Guide supposed to keep you from zoning? Because Jim had never tasted anything that felt like this before.

Jim buried his senses in Blair, could feel the chemical processes start to hum and change inside himself. _Fear, Panic, Can't do this!_ warred with _Must live! Must Protect!_ and over all Blair was there with him, inside him, everywhere. In a last act of will he chose to trust, to jump blindly off this cliff, holding onto Blair all the way down.

"Jim, Jim! Don't stop breathing now. Jim! You just keep breathing, you hear me soldier? JIM!"

*_*_*_*

Jim blinked sore, swollen eyes open, then squinted against the bright sunlight. Color and slant indicated, what? Ten in the morning? He felt like complete and utter shit. What the hell had he been doing to himself? He groaned, then froze, his whole body terrified of... of what?"

"It's okay now, Jim. You stopped coughing about an hour ago. That's it, you like those nice, deep breaths, don't you. Missed them, didn't you? There you go."

He was lying on his living room floor, pillows and blankets piled under and around him like some Middle Eastern sheik's tent from the Arabian Nights. Blair was crooning over him like he was an injured rabbit or something. Didn't they have a case? Irritated at the strangeness of it all he struggled to sit up, first fighting Blair's hands then accepting their help when it was obvious that he needed help.

"Sandburg," his voice rasped. "What the hell?"

Blair hesitated, then with the look of a man facing a firing squad said, "Look, you were almost dead. I mean you actually stopped breathing, okay? And let me tell you, I'd do just about anything to never let that happen again. I'd dance naked with my mother to not let that happen, and if you'd ever met her, you'd know just how Oedipal and crazy-weird that would make me. But for you, I'd do it. So I'm sorry, but I'm not going to apologize."

Sorting through the not-apology, Jim latched on to a few important facts. He'd stopped breathing. And now that he thought about it memories started trickling back and he remembered that not breathing had seemed a fine alternative to suffering through another coughing fit. Hell, with Blair's fingers in his mouth, his body wrapped around Jim's, his scent and voice being rubbed into Jim's very skin, not breathing had seemed pretty easy, actually. Who needed the hassle when it was distracting him from exploring his-

Guide. Blair was his Guide.

A soft smile touched his lips. "We did it, Chief."

"No kidding, Ellison, really?" The sarcasm made him grin, made him want to reach out and tussle Blair's hair and then tussle with the rest of him.

He struggled some more, determined to get to his feet, or at least be sitting on some damn furniture when Blair was there, hands supporting him and voice crooning, "Easy there big guy, your body is pretty miraculous, but give yourself time to heal, okay?" as they deposited him on the couch. Well. Progress, he supposed.

"What about the case?"

"Fuck the case, man!" Blair exploded, leaping from the couch and pacing furiously around the room. "Fuck the case and that little red folder it came in! If you hadn't been so completely run down, so exhausted from months of overwork, you wouldn't have decompensated that fast! We almost lost you, Jim! I almost..."

Jim waved Blair over to him, and reluctantly Blair came to his side. Jim tucked him next to him, his arms holding and cradling this newfound strength in his life. "Listen up, Sandburg, because I don't intend to repeat myself," he rasped out.

"I Protect people. That's my holy grail, the defining action of my life. This came along, all of this," and he gestured vaguely to indicate the Flu, the city collapsing under its own weight, "and I though to myself that this was how I would die. Hoped I'd drop in the traces, but I knew I'd go out one way or the other."

"Jim," Blair stirred and tried to interrupt, but Jim wasn't done.

"No, listen." he ground out, wishing for some water. "Ever since this whole nightmare started, people have been asking me to sacrifice for them. I've been sacrificing my personal time, my friendships, risking my job, hell lately even my sanity. Simon asks me to sacrifice my morals, my instincts on the altar of expediency. And now you." He reached over and cupped Blair's cheek with one hand. "You come along and ask me for the greatest sacrifice of all. You ask me to give away a part of myself, to give away part in order to keep the rest of me whole.

"This is a sacrifice I'm willing to make, Blair. This is finally something I can live with. As long as it's with you."

Blair's eyes shone, and Jim counted himself as one lucky bastard to have been a bus ride away from the Green sector two days ago.

"But what I'm not willing to give up, what I never will sacrifice, is the case. Jessica Cole. She needs us, Chief. Do you see?"

"Yeah, Jim. I get it." Blair beamed up into his face, and Jim knew that indeed, he did. They were together in this. Partners. "I could really use some water, Chief."

"Oh, yeah. Of course!" Blair sprang off the couch towards the kitchen, cupboards banging as he looked for the glasses. "Second on the left," Jim rasped, wondering how long until his voice recovered. Hard to interview witnesses or intimidate suspects like this.

Jim smiled gratefully as a cool glass slid into his hand, and closed his eyes in bliss when he swallowed.

"You want to work the case? You got it Jim, but we're going to do this the smart way, you understand?"

Jim opened his eyes, wondering if he'd missed something.

"You're body is, like phenomenal. Normally it'd take weeks and weeks to get you back on your feet, but you'll be there in like, days."

"We don't have days," he interrupted, not liking where this was heading.

"I know, I know. That's why we work this the smart way. My way." Blair grinned cheekily at him went off to his room. Amidst the clutter of things being dumped from a backpack, Jim was left wondering what he'd let himself in for.

*_*_*_*

Blair insisted on driving, which a pissed off Jim grumbled and snarked about. ("Do you even have a license, Chief?" "Of course not Jim, they took away our driver's licenses in the Blue about they same time they turned the water off. Now shut it and buckle up.")

Driving was very Zen, at least it could be when it wasn't Jim doing the driving. Blair found his body relaxing from the tension of the past few days, and he mused quietly on how his life had turned sideways and upside down from what he'd known.

Blair had known from the first that it was Guides that would save them. It didn't matter that he couldn't get his fellow teachers to listen to him, or even that his old professors shook their heads and closed their doors to him. Blair knew with every fiber of his being, knew in his bones that Guides were the answer.

When his school closed last year, the parents desperate to keep their Sentinel children home and safe, Blair took it as a sign to devote all his time to his research. Jim had spoken this morning about losing friends, about the sacrifices he'd made. Blair knew about that. Knew all about having to chose between life-long goals and dreams, between people's expectations of you and the burning fire in your gut that won't let you sleep at night, won't let you think about anything but saving them. The Sentinels.

He'd sworn once the blood tests had come back positive that he would never be one of those Guides who let the Sentinel define him. He was and always would be his own man, a free and independent thinker who just happened to have an affinity towards the world's Protectors. It was easy and rewarding to work with kids; he'd always loved them and besides it kept him in control of the dynamic. Later, when he'd begun researching Halves and adult, but damaged Trues, he'd begun to see how a balanced, mature relationship between Sentinel and Guide might actually be possible.

But for him? The bond? He wasn't ever sure that he wanted it for himself. Ask him a week ago and he'd have told you that his ideal future included children of his own and recognition in his field. Now he had to face facts. His field was all but gone, and kids?

Blair slid a glance towards Jim, grunting in satisfaction to see the bigger man sleeping, head slumped against the window. He remembered how he had crouched over Jim's body, hour after dark hour in the early morning. How his heart had almost burst when Jim dragged that first, glorious breath back into his lungs.

He remembered the surprising feeling of power, observing Jim's body responding to him, listening to him. _Breathe_ he'd said, and Jim had drawn breath. _Heal yourself_ he'd whispered and Blair could almost feel the body starting to right itself under his hands.

And what price, this power? Jim's independence, certainly. Never again would Jim be able to pull himself out of a zone. He was completely, utterly dependent on Blair. And Blair could never leave Jim, never go off and have a family, couldn't devote time to children that would take him away from Jim. They'd given up everything for each other. Everything.

And it was worth it. He felt the rightness of it with every breath he took, with every breath Jim took. They were together, now. The rest would work itself out. And as for the other Sentinels? The ones he'd intended to save? His great pilgrimage from city to city, saving each one he'd met wasn't going to happen. Not now that he was bonded. But that didn't mean he had to give up his plan entirely. Work smarter, not harder, Blair. He focused again on the road in front of him and started making plans.

*_*_*_*

Simon held his head in both hands, fingers trying to massage away his pain and grief. He was the commanding officer, the Captain of Major Crimes. He had to keep his people together, keep them focused, keep them from knuckling under to their own fear and loss. So he maintained his stoic front, kept the cases moving, saved those he could save and generally made a complete bastard out of himself in the process.

Before today he would have said that was all good. It was all worthwhile as long as he could keep his little slice of the city free and clear. Could watch people eating in restaurants or walking down the street and know that they felt safe to do so because of him.

And sometimes that meant shutting his own feelings away behind iron doors. Sometimes it meant looking the devil straight in the eye and calling a spade a spade. So this morning when his lead detective failed to show, Simon called Henri and Rafe into his office. "You're back as leads. Find the girl." Because, really, there was only one force on this planet that could keep Jim from Protecting, and it looked like that force had finally caught up to Cascade's last Sentinel.

"Jim." He groaned. The friendship had been stressed between them for a while now, always complicated by their job demands. But he counted, and would always count Jim as a true friend, and wondered what it cost his soul that he couldn't even take a day to visit a dying man. The sacrifices they'd all made, would it ever be worth it?

He lifted his head, surprised by the sudden ruckus in the bullpen, and crossed himself as he witnessed a true miracle: Jim, walking and pale and grinning at the whole MC staff, an arm around that Sandburg character seeming to be the only thing keeping him upright.

The cheering and shouting was glorious to a man who'd almost lost his faith. Breathing a prayer of thanks and ghosting his fingers along the angels on his desk, Simon straightened his tie and strode to his door.

"I don't recall issuing a general holiday out here," he bellowed. "If none of you are busy enough, I'm sure I can find something to keep you occupied."

The scramble for desks and files made him smirk. He hadn't lost his touch, that was for sure. "Ellison, Sandburg, my office!"

*_*_*_*

A ransom note had finally arrived early this morning, detailing a drop location and amount for later in the afternoon. But as interesting as the whole thing was, Blair found that he had to force himself to pay attention. Too much had happened way too fast and his mind was wandering in the worst way. So he was letting his brain have a mini vacation while the three of them, plus Rafe and Henri, were seated around Banks' conference table.

"This is the first real break in this case since it landed in our laps, gentlemen, and I expect results." Simon began. "The letter indicates the drop zone will be here," he said, pointing at a map on the wall, "which is in the Blue, of course. No surprise there. Forensics has been all over this and they've found traces of potassium, nitrogen, and phosphorus ground into the paper fibers. This could be bigger than a kidnapping - we could be talking bomb manufacturing here. Jim, what do you have for me?"

Blair watched absently as Jim took the letter out of Simon's hand, and with a nod of permission opened the sealed bag to examine it. Must be using Vision, maybe Scent, Blair mused, wondering what would be the essential clue that would solve this case? Would the criminal smoke a distinctive type of cigar? Would he write left handedly and have smeared the pen, leaving a trace of fingerprint that only Sentinel Sight could find?

"Jim? Detective Ellison, report!"

Horrified, Blair snapped out of his reverie at Simon's shout. "Shit! Jim, Jim, come on man, let's not do this on our first day in the office, c'mon, easy does it, there you go. Just turn those dials down and come on back to me now."

Jim visibly shuddered and refocused, then slowly turned and leveled a baleful stare at his Guide. Blair flinched.

"Sorry Jim, my mind was woolgathering and-"

"That's not acceptable, Sandburg!" Jim growled.

"I know! It's just been such a huge couple of days and I forgot, okay? I just forgot and it won't ever happen again. Trust me."

Simon cleared his throat, and Blair watched Jim wince, then turn towards his boss. "I'm waiting for an explanation, Detective."

"Well, you see," began Blair, and was cut off with a gesture.

"I said 'Detective'. Last I looked, that meant you, Jim." The overly polite, gentle tones didn't make Blair feel any better, and Jim seemed to want to be standing at attention in his chair.

"Sir, you know Sandburg." At Simon's nod Jim continued. "Well, he, that is we, uh, bonded this morning. Now I need him to prevent zone-outs. We're still working on the details."

Simon's open stare of astonishment made Blair feel even worse. Crap, his first day and he'd already messed up with Jim's boss!

"You bonded. With him?"

"Sir, it was the only way. I was dying, Simon. This bond, it's keeping me alive." He leaned forward, lowering his voice a little so the fascinated detectives down the table had to strain to hear. "It's better like this Simon. It'll be okay. It just needs some work, you'll see."

Jim and Banks both leaned back, and Simon heaved a big sigh. "I'm not sure I want to know, actually. But assuming for the moment that I accept this little miracle, let's move on. Tell me what you've found."

"The note does smell like all three elements that the lab picked up, but there's more there, Simon. I can also smell, I don't know, umm, lavender? And kitchen smells... cloves! I smell cloves and lavender."

"Well, they've gotta eat," volunteered Rafe. Maybe they got bored and decided to cook something up."

Blair was practically vibrating in place. "But you don't cook with lavender, man!" All eyes turned to him, and at Jim's nod of permission he went on. "I mean, some folks do but it's not your general run-of-the-mill kitchen spice, you know?"

"And your point is, Mr Sandburg?" Simon drawled.

"It's plant soil, Simon! Phosphorus, calcium, and nitrides are all common elements in high quality potting soil, and Jim's smelling the plants grown in it! They're set up in some sort of, I don't know, an abandoned nursery or something. It's gotta be!"

"He could be right, Simon," Jim mused slowly. I'd need a clearer sample to tell for certain, but..."

"All right, for lack of a better lead, Rafe and Henri I want you on the old city plans looking for anything that would fit the bill in the Blue. If the drop is there, it's a good chance that the kidnapper's safe house is, too. Jim, keep working with the note and see if you turn anything else up. And Sandburg?"

Blair beamed back at him. "Yeah?"

"That's Captain Banks to you. Now move it people!"

It was the work of an hour to research the old city archives and pinpoint where in the Blue the last nurseries had been. Given the amount of damage from the flooding and the gang wars, they were able to narrow down the possible areas until just one remained. An abandoned hothouse not more than ten city blocks from Blair's old place.

"All right people, this is going to be a two pronged attack. One team, supplied by our brothers in Missing Persons, will man the drop site, apprehend and arrest whoever approaches the bag. Simultaneously Jim, Henri, and Rafe will close in on the garden and take down the rest of the kidnappers. If we do this fast enough the goon at the drop won't have time to warn the rest of the kidnappers. With a little bit of luck Jessica will be reunited with her family, another win for the good guys. Any questions?"

There were none at the time, but Blair was certainly listening to an earful of them now, on the way to the Blue.

"I still don't see why Simon gave H and Rafe the lead on this!" Jim fumed, fumbling with his Kevlar as Blair drove on increasingly impassible streets.

"Your body is still too weak to run this op, Jim. You can barely stand up without me carrying you. You know this. And drink more of that Gatorade. You need the fluids."

"I can still lift a gun just fine. And I'll need a pit stop in the middle of the op if I keep drinking like this." he muttered back, but at Blair's glare he obediently swallowed a mouthful. "Happy?"

"Yes." Blair replied. And he was. How the hell did that happen? He was on his way to bust up a kidnapping ring, he was wearing Kevlar in case he was shot for pete's sake, and he was happy? He looked back at Jim, who knew in that irritating Sentinel way exactly what was going on in his Guide's body, and found himself smiling. Yeah, he was happy. Go figure. He shook his head in wonder and went back to keeping the old truck from falling into the next pothole.

*_*_*

Blair might well have some rather revolutionary ideas bouncing around in that head of his, but Jim had to say that his latest one was just plain crap.

"No, for the last time, you are not going to assist with negotiating for the girl's release, I don't care how many psych minors you have in your back pocket, and you are certainly not going to approach the building while I'm sitting fifty yards back in the truck!"

Blair stared out at the safe house in the distance, too frustrated to look at him. "Jim, that's what the scent pads are for - to distract you out of a zone when I'm not in range."

"I don't care if they're for the Mayor's next birthday party. You are not going into put yourself in danger, and you are not going to leave my side! End of discussion."

"You need to stay in the truck, Jim."

"Like hell! And besides, look, if I'm so weak I'll need you here to help me. Right? So if I can't go, neither can you." Ignoring Blair's look of pure frustration, he went on. "Or we could both just sort of hobble along behind the point guard and give them detailed scouting info about the movements inside the building."

"You can't hobble and sneak at the same time, Jim! Even I know that. Look, we'll just let H and Rafe go to do the running and heroic kicking in of doors and ordering bad men to their knees, thing, okay?"

"Fine. As long as you stay back here with me."

"Fine!"

"Fine!" Jim watched while his Guide hunched his shoulders away from him. He peered at Blair's surly expression, then leaned closer, closer, and smirked as Blair broke into a helpless grin.

"Fine, you win!" Blair threw his hands up, laughing, and Jim knew that he'd played it right. "I don't know what I was thinking. It's not like I'm trained for this or anything."

"Ah, I don't know. You sure gave the bathroom door what-for, Rambo," Jim teased him, grabbing Blair around the neck and giving him a noogie. It was good, so good not to have to fight this anymore. Just feel what he felt and touch when he felt like touching. He buried his face in Blair's mop, practically purring when Blair snuggled in at his side.

"Hey, you two need a room?" H's voice crackled across their com units. "We gonna catch us some bad guys today or what?"

Jim cleared his throat and settled Blair in more firmly next to him. "Sorry 'bout that, guys." He nodded to H and Rafe to get ready, then tapped Blair on the shoulder to let him know that he was using his senses. In a disorienting rush, Jim almost fell over as his Sight zoomed him across the field, in through the darkened window and practically up one of the kidnapper's noses.

Shit, the senses were hair triggered and super charged way beyond normal. Jim hugged Blair harder, conscious of the low murmuring next to him that reminded him where his body was. Carefully he pulled back Sight, so slowly that he felt like a rookie all over again. Easing the throttle back he saw four men, two playing cards under the East window, one watching a flickering, half-broken vid, and the fourth with his gun lazily pointed at Jessica Cole.

"This is the place, folks." He confirmed. "I have a visual on four hostiles and one non-combatant."

H and Rafe moved in stealthily towards the house, Jim pulling back from the room to monitor their progress, then pushing forward again. All four were oblivious to the CPD presence. Excellent.

"Try piggybacking hearing," Blair murmured and Jim performed that mental braiding in his mind that let two senses flow down the neural pathways of one.

"Carson said he'd bring back donuts. God I'm sick of this festering crap they call food here."

"Carson's likely to eat 'em all before he gets back," another groused.

Something was wrong here, something was tickling Jim's instincts, both Sentinel and cop. He pushed harder, wanting a clearer picture and could suddenly hear the pulses and all but smell the sweat of the four kidnappers. Shit, this was wild. Like discovering the senses all over again. He pulled his mind back to business, but the source of the wrongness eluded him. All four were relaxed, even the one watching the girl.

Confused, he pulled back to his body and found that Blair was shaking him and smelled worried. "Did I zone again, Chief?"

"No, no you were good. Reported everything you sensed, but Jim they're not reporting back. Is that supposed to happen or what, man? Because I'm getting a little freaked at the continued radio silence here and-"

Jim cut him off with a gesture, and whipped his head around, tracking the two detectives. They were still easing toward the safe house and he ground his teeth in anger. Surely they realized that their communications net had crashed? Why weren't they concerned at the lack of updates?

Except that Jim never worked secondary in a case. Except that Rafe and H had likely never worked with a Sentinel in the field except as backup themselves, and had no damn idea that they were supposed to be fed a stream of tactical info right up until the handcuffs were in place.

Except that there was no place to go and get donuts in the Blue, which meant 'Carson' wasn't planning on picking up some bakery goods after getting the ransom drop.

"There's an unaccounted for hostile. Their radios are down and their intel is crap. Shit!"

Blair slithered away from him, and Jim frowned in confusion, then struggled to his feet. "No, no!" he hissed, hanging onto the open door for balance. "You are not to approach the house! Stand down, Sandburg!"

"Not a chance, man." Blair whispered back, edging away from him, dry grass crunching under his boots. "Just gonna run up there and tell them to fix their radios or something. Be right back, swear to God Jim, be right back. Just stay with the truck!"

Jim watched impotently as his Guide turned and scurried away from him, towards Rafe and H who were, fuck it all, almost at the house. This was falling apart, his team was walking into an unknown threat level, his Guide was, was-

No.

Jim saw the shadow of the fifth hostile huddled around the corner of the house, and that was it. Instincts screaming in overdrive Jim pulled himself to his feet and pushed his body forward.

Now the senses chose to give out. Now when he needed them the most to keep track of his fucking, hearing-impaired Guide he couldn't see past his nose because of those grey, ferny patterns, couldn't hear anything over the freight train noises he was making, wheezing and gasping for breath as he lumbered over the dry, dead ground.

Protect, must protect. It was like a mantra and he kept repeating it as he went, fitting the cadence to his laboring breathing. How far away was he now? Ten yards? Five? He couldn't hear anything but himself, his oxygen starved body screaming out for a rest.

He hit the cool shade of the building and staggered, as disoriented by the temperature change as if he'd run into the wall. Okay. He was here, so where the hell was everyone else? He clutched the wall with his left hand, heaving gulping breaths and hoping like hell no one was listening for a half-dead Sentinel outside the house. With his right he fumbled for his weapon. One more breath, just one more. Okay, time to move.

Grimly he pushed himself forward, forcing silent breaths past pursed lips. Vision steadied, then adjusted to the gloom, and Jim slid past the grimy window towards the door. It was hanging open, swinging in the slight breeze. No scent of gunpowder. Experience told him the fifth hostile had likely ambushed his crew and brought them inside to be dealt with. Cautiously, trying not to zone in this whole mess, he dialed hearing up a notch.

"... not going to hold them for ransom you moron! They're cops! We're going to kill them, then take the cash and get the hell out of here!"

"There is no cash! If they found us here then the drop is a bust, too."

Another voice piped up, "The city might pay a whole lot for their precious boys in blue. I say it's worth a shot, try to recoup some of our losses."

Then a new voice, probably the unseen 'Carson', "They're liabilities. Kill them all, then do the girl."

Without another thought, instinct overriding muscle, Jim smoothly wheeled around the door and fired. His world was a web of interconnecting strands, each feeding him exquisite detail in every possible nuance. His feet were grounded into the bedrock and he felt the inexorable turning and shifting of the Earth under him. He didn't need to aim, didn't need to wonder if his shots were true. Did his head wonder where his hand was? Did his skin wonder how to feel? He was utterly connected to the world and aware of his place in it.

His enemies dropped, meaningless lumps of non-threat on the ground. The bright Guide-presence hurried to him, soothing strength and true sounds marking his progress. The other warriors got to their feet and examined the non-threats. Safe now. He glanced at the girl, smelled her fear and exhaustion, and knew that she, too, would survive.

At that, Jim came back to himself and for the second time that day he slumped into Blair's arms, nearly collapsing as Blair broke his fall.

Jim glanced at H and Rafe, then turned and buried his face in Blair's neck, intent on running his hands up and down Blair's body looking for stray bullets holes. He'd much rather spend all day distracting himself than linger on the looks of fear and awe coming from his friends. They'd get over it. Probably. He held Blair tighter, and was grateful to be held in return.

*_*_*_*

Later, outside the safe house, Jim sagged contentedly against Blair's side while watching H and Rafe call for reinforcements and body bags. Yeah, this had been a level one fuck-up, but in the end all was well. The bad guys were dead, the good guys were unhurt, the victim was rescued. Avoiding another searching look from Henri, Jim turned his head and buried his face in his Guide's hair.

"Hey Chief," he murmured. He grazed his fingers across Blair's bare neck, startling a shiver from his Guide.

He was amused to Scent the surprised lust rising from Blair. All that studying and the kid didn't even know what the bond was supposed to feel like?

"Why don't you take me home and put me to bed." he murmured, pressing up against Blair, drinking in his gasp as he took his mouth with his own.

After a long moment their lips parted, Jim still resting his forehead against Blair.

"Good idea Jim, great idea. I'll just, um, you know, I'll just go get the truck."

Jim smiled and released him, stretching tired muscles and feeling the healing going on inside his body and his soul. This was not what he'd expected, not what he'd ever thought he wanted. But looking at Sandburg's running figure, feeling the wind bring his scent back to him, he knew this was better.

*_*_*_*

Within a week our news service had broadcast the miracle cure across the entire globe. Controversy raged on both sides, bitter arguments erupted over whether anyone had the right force a Sentinel to bond, or whether the act could even be considered legal.

Finally, though, the Sentinels that were left all chose Guides. They chose because they were Sentinels, and because a Sentinel Protects. And to this day every Sentinel has a Guide to watch his or her back, to follow them into darkness when duty calls them there and to bring them back from it when they're done.

*_*_*

And for those of you wondering where the sex was, I give you:

 

the Epilogue:

It had been four days since they closed the Cole case, and Blair had insisted that Jim be allowed his first sick leave in over two years. Unable to argue with a barely ambulatory detective, Simon had granted an unprecedented week off to "Get your head together and try to teach Sandburg how not to get his blown off."

Jim had been pretty rocky for the first day or so, but he was feeling fine now. Amazingly fine. Utterly and completely fine. Frisky, even.

And therein lay the problem. That first day after the case he'd barely been able to kiss Blair properly before falling unconscious in bed. His stubborn Guide had taken that as some sort of sign, because anytime Jim started showing signs of getting affectionate Blair would throw his hands up and say "Nuh uh, Jim. Not till your lungs are clear."

Well they were clear now. Crystal, actually, and Jim thought it was about time to remind his Guide of a few things. Like a Sentinel knew his body, even if he had to adapt to life with a Guide. And Jim knew Blair, and knew that he had no idea what was in store for them. It was high time he found out.

With a sly grin, Jim stepped out of the shower and dried himself, being sure to rub the towel well over sensitive, interested areas. He dressed and walked past the still-splintered door, down the hall and into the kitchen area to find his Guide already typing away furiously, still in contact with the media in an effort to get the word out.

Blair wanted to save Sentinels. That was good. Saving Sentinels was a worthy cause, but right now there was one a little closer to home who was in danger of dying from a mysterious disease involving blue balls and too much time with his right hand.

He walked past Blair, grunting 'good morning' and dropped his damp towel on the table next to the laptop. Blair, so absorbed in his typing, barely looked up.

Jim grinned. That's right, Darwin. Keep that brain of yours busy; it's your body I want to pay attention.

Jim watched covertly over his coffee as Blair shifted a little in his chair, then shifted again. Jim knew the scent from his towel was stimulating his Guide, heard the respirations speed up a little, saw the pupils dilate and watched a tongue snake out to wet full lips.

"Hey Chief," he called softly.

"Hmm?" Blair looked up vaguely, automatically tracking his voice.

"How's it going?"

"Oh, um, fine." Blair blinked, frowned a little, then focused again on the computer. Jim could barely suppress a chuckle. A little confused there, Blair? Not quite sure what was happening yet? Maybe he'd give him a hint.

He walked the few steps to the table, leaned over Blair's shoulder, and spoke gently in his ear. "Maybe you should take a break, Chief." His lips brushed the shell of Blair's ear, his fingers grazing Blair's exposed throat.

An explosion of lust wafted up from Blair's skin, and Jim breathed it in eagerly, his groin swelling and tightening in response. God yes, that was good.

He stroked Blair's throat again and again, Blair's head fell back against him and Jim reveled in the shudders coursing through the body next to him.

"Jim, what in the world?" Blair managed, then gasped as Jim licked a hot, wet trail of pleasure up his throat and ended by blowing gently in an ear.

"It's the bond, Blair." he murmured huskily. "Your body responds to mine, mine responds to yours. Feel that pleasure, Blair, feel the need? That's us, Blair. It's all us."

"We, um, no we can't, Jim. You're still recovering and- oh..."

Jim's hand slid under Blair's shirt and down a pleasantly furry chest, found and tweaked a hard, sensitive nipple. "Jim, that's, oh that's umm, good. But we have to, have to..."

Blair couldn't win this battle. His body was opening up, begging for his Sentinel, and Jim was ready to give it to him.

Jim's other hand came around Blair, enfolding him into the chair and supporting Blair's languid body. Blair gasped, then arched helplessly into Jim's touch, his hands brushing and trailing down Blair's chest and across a warm, humid hardness in his lap.

Jim turned his face and finally took Blair's mouth, plundered the hot, slick wetness of lips and tongue, Jesus he tasted good. Loosing track of who was supposed to be seducing whom, Jim moaned and practically crawled into Blair's lap, his body pulsing with arousal and need.

"Blair, please." he groaned, breaking free of the kiss and trailing wet, searing kisses down Blair's jaw. "Gotta have you Blair, babe please say yes now."

Blair looked into Jim's face with a dazed expression, then closed his eyes and threw his head back when Jim rubbed himself up against him. Great. That's a yes, he decided, and proceeded to drag Blair to the floor, tugging and fumbling with clothes, the chair skittering away from them.

Blair's shirt finally came free, and a stronger rush of pheromones struck Jim, made him moan and thrust against Blair. Oh God, this was good, like nothing he'd ever felt, and he couldn't stop, didn't want to stop, and then Blair's hands came up and wrestled his shirt off and this was better. Oh so much better and Blair finally seemed to be with the program here, because he was mouthing hot, tongue filled kisses over Jim's neck and chest, trailing whisper light fingertips over Jim's back that made him cry out it was so fucking sweet.

"Blair," he moaned. "At least. Pants!" And Blair seemed to realize that he was drowning here, caught in his own web of lust and need because suddenly he was rolled over, strong thighs wrapped around his waist and a dark eyed, wet lipped, gorgeously mussed Blair over him.

"Gonna make you feel so good, Jim," he murmured, rubbing against Jim and tugging on their pants. Gonna make you come and come, gonna shoot all over you Jim and the smell of me is gonna make you crazy, isn't it? That's it Jim, feel me against you, feel how I want you? Good isn't it, it's so good..." Blair pressed his stiff, hard cock next to Jim's own, rubbing their bodies together with his rocking.

And oh hell, this had the potential to seriously backfire, because suddenly it wasn't Jim in control of this thing anymore. It wasn't even Jim in control of his body anymore. Blair crooned and teased and stroked him and Jim writhed in pleasure under him, gasping and sobbing already. Oh god, Blair whispered for him to feel pleasure and he did, oh he did. He stroked Jim's skin with light feathery touches and those sinfully full lips, and Jim writhed and spasmed helplessly under his touch.

"Blair," he gasped, knowing that he couldn't hold it any longer, knowing that Blair was pulling his orgasm from him with gentle, powerful commands that he couldn't ignore.

"Jim, my love. Come for me now."

"Oh hell," he breathed and came, his orgasm rolling up his body, his dick swelling and bursting and oh fuck! his hands clenched bruisingly tight around Blair's arms, his whole body bucking and shaking and sobbing with it.

Jim came back to himself slowly, feeling warm, soothing hands telling him where his body started, where his skin bound the rest of him and made him solid, again.

"Blair," he muttered, trying to coordinate enough to reach down for Blair's cock, wanting to make this good for him, too.

"Oh no you don't," Blair chuckled darkly. "I've still got plans for that. Plans and plans. Might take all day, as long as you're feeling so chipper and all," he continued, stroking Jim's body, smearing his come between them. "Might even get you in bed by the end of it, if you behave yourself," he smirked.

"Now Jim, I want you to listen very closely to me." he took Jim's flaccid, spent cock in one hand and held it gently. "I want you to get hard for me, now. Are you listening, Jim? Hard and swollen and so good to rub and fuck with. Feel that Jim?"

And Jim groaned as his body responded, new arousal spiking through him, helpless in the face of Blair's whispered commands.

Hell, if he'd known Blair would take it like this he never would have waited so long.

\---end


End file.
